Examining racial divides created and made worse by man

Race is a funny word. Man-made, just like everything else we’ve created using our own languages. I believe it is an attempt, at best, to distinguish ourselves from a common genome.

When I was very young, a race was something I saw horses or greyhounds compete in. I grew up in the suburbs of Colorado - hardly a prime suitor for diversity in the 1980s. But, nevertheless, I hardly ever felt like the ugly duckling because of the amount of melanin in my skin or the child that everyone looked at funny because I didn’t physically fit in. Looking back, I’m sure plenty of factors played into this relatively comfortable childhood, particularly the idea that I came from an Asian background. Asians have a very different sort of stereotype associated with them, especially those of the Indian subcontinent.

In my teens, people didn’t look at me and think, “She’ll never make it through middle school” or “I wonder if her parents are crack cocaine addicts”. People looked at me and wondered which Ivy League I’d be attending and how many hours a night I spent studying. And in a funny little way, I began to disapprove. Mostly because I was put on a pedestal I wanted neither to justify nor own. And when I didn’t make Ivy League for college (mostly because I didn’t apply to begin with), people wondered if I was the “special” case among Asian Americans.

It was in freshman year of college that the entire schism between racial groups became very apparent to me.  Prior to this, I didn’t know what “racism”, “white supremacy” or “affirmative action” really were. Of course, I’d studied the Civil Rights movement and gave my allegiances to honorable figures like Martin Luther King, Jr., but they didn’t apply to me. I was neither black nor Hispanic. I came from an immigrant family that specialized in skilled labor and whose parents were sworn in as American citizens when I was in the second grade. Parents who had their Masters degrees from American institutions and who lived a relatively comfortable life.

I may have not personally experienced racism growing up, but that isn’t to say I wasn’t exposed to it. Americans are not the only ones with a long history of racism. It’s a global phenomenon. Many Pakistani Muslims, for example, find Indian Hindus to be inferior, “dirty” and “backwards”. “Monkey worshiping filth”, as one particular individual in my family used to put it. Why this hate? Hinduism and Islam clash historically, politically and religiously. Their followers must, as result, categorize themselves as superior to the other faith in order to justify their own beliefs. This is not to say peaceful coexistence does not exist. But there are a fair share of extremists and racists riddled in the both populaces, some of whom also happen to make-up my family.

This sort of racism also isn’t something to discuss with others. It’s a dinner table conversation, behind closed doors. It is understood, but never publicly acknowledged. Growing up, I found it to be a fascinating paradox that I vicariously lived, through my own parents. They’d smile, make small talk with Hindus and non-Muslims – and then behind closed doors, the hate would fill every corner of every room in the house. At the time, I was too young to realize that what they were engaging in was racism. Thankfully, their words weren’t too impressionable, either.

I did have a personal face-off with racism in the latter years of high school. It stemmed from the ignorant and widespread racism following the 9/11 attacks in 2001. These days, it doesn’t matter if you’re Pakistani, Bengali, Indian or even Sri Lankan – to the ignorant racists in this country, you’re a “terrorist”. In 2002, I was stopped at Bush Intercontinental Airport and subjected to SWAT team interrogations, for absolutely no reason except that my name was Maha. A white Delta employee at check-in was kind enough to report me (for national security’s sake, of course). It’s a very belittling and awful feeling, to be subjected to racism. Suddenly, your personality and your achievements are trashed for your name and what your skin color is. And often times, there isn’t a single thing you can do about it.

But I’ve learned, through attaining my own independence from unfortunate aspects of my bicultural identity, that racism is very much psycho-social. Individuals with racist tendencies have failed, for the most part, to establish their own personal identities. It is easier to elevate one’s ethnic, religious or national background to a higher level over another than to endure deep introspection geared towards understanding and strengthening insecurities surrounding personal identity. At the microcosmic level, this could be controlled. If an individual exhibits racist behavior, he or she can be consequently restrained.

At the macrocosmic, state-level, however, it becomes a rather nasty problem.